The Hungry 5: All Hell Breaks Loose (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) (2 page)

Dr. Williams sighed, clearly unimpressed. “And your point is?”

“My point is, you’re losing your mojo, Charlotte, and I want it on the record that I’m going to file a formal complaint with the SABW immediately.” D’Amore stood up, as if to leave, but it was mostly for show. He was playing to the hidden camera. “It’s time you stepped aside to let someone more qualified dig us out of this mess.”

“Sit down, Raymond. You’re too late, as usual. The Special Assistant Biological Weapons has already been given a full, official report.”

A dark look crossed D’Amore’s face. “I didn’t sign off on any report.”

“Miguel and I signed and forwarded it. You hadn’t arrived yet, and we couldn’t wait for you.”

“What?” D’Amore turned to Crespi. “Why, you lousy little worm.”

Crespi opened his mouth to respond, but Dr. Williams cut him off. “Raymond, do I really need to remind you what we’re here for? You know what’s at stake. The very survival of the United States of America is in our hands. This plague is a crisis of unprecedented proportions. For the record, your trivial, egocentric dissention is neither appreciated nor welcome.”

D’Amore stayed standing, and turned his shoulders to fully face Charlotte Williams. A mask of professional courtesy returned, though his tone oozed sarcasm. “Unfortunately, every decision you’ve made recently has further jeopardized our collective survival.” He held up his fingers and ticked off the charges. “Let us review your recent appointments, shall we? Your Colonel Sanchez, who wasn't just inept but had delusions of Godhood, actually injected himself with the virus before Miller could bring him down. General Gifford turned out to be nothing more than a thief, and would have betrayed us all if Miller hadn't taken him out as well. And you demanded that we put your pet Dr. Rubenstein in charge, which let him virtually destroy the entire project, before he was also killed, possibly by Miller. I sense a pattern here.”

Dr. Williams just stared, those hazel eyes turning steel gray cool and undisturbed. “Don’t give me that self-righteous crap. You signed off on every one of those men, and did so on the record.”

“Nice try, but you can’t point the finger at me.” D’Amore postured again. “Let’s just say that I don’t think the future survival the United States of America can stand the introduction of another one of your cronies. The evidence suggests that you cannot handle your job. Too much money has been wasted and too many innocent people have died. I’m taking this to the SABW.” He got up and walked to the door, briefcase under one arm.

“Where do you think you are going?” Dr. Williams said, softly. “Sit down.”

“I don’t think so, Charlotte. You’re on your own now, and circling the drain. All you’ve got left is Miguel’s loyalty, for whatever that’s worth. And I seriously doubt you’ll have even that for much longer.”

D’Amore opened the door, and left.

“You’re not going to let him get away with that, are you, Charlotte?” asked Crespi. He seemed stunned by the impertinence he’d just witnessed. Or perhaps he was also acting for the record.

For a long moment, Dr. Williams said nothing. Then she turned to Crespi. “Where are they now?”

“Who?”

“Sheriff Miller and Sheppard and this Scratch fellow, you idiot.”

Crespi cleared his throat. “No one’s sure. They don’t seem to be listed among the dead and none of the zombies they put in the corral match their description. It’s been five days since they were last seen alive. If they are still breathing, they could be almost anywhere by now.”

Dr. Williams opened a folder on the table before her. The cover read,
Penelope Jean Miller, Sheriff, Flat Rock County, Nevada
. She perused it for a long moment. “No, they won’t be just anywhere. She won’t quit. Not this woman. Her psychological profile indicates that she is driven by loyalty to her friends and a powerful sense of duty. How widely have we searched, how far from Crystal Palace?”

“The search teams canvassed the general area so far. It took quite a while to get through all the bodies and handle the zombies still in hiding at the base.”

Dr. Williams stared at the photograph of Sheriff Penny Miller. She came across as stubborn, smart well trained, and capable of being ruthless and deadly, but still a small town sheriff at heart. Dr. Williams made up her mind. “Send drones out to Flat Rock, her hometown. That’s where they’ll be.”

Crespi tapped a drawer in the side of the conference table. It slid open. He picked up the hidden, secure phone. “Consider it done.”

Charlotte Williams continued to flip through the hard file. She stopped again at the official service portrait of Sheriff Miller. She stared into the other woman’s eyes. She tapped the photo lightly with a blood red fingernail. “Tell them I want Miller and Sheppard alive.”

“What about any of the others?”

“They don’t matter.”

With that, Dr. Williams rose. She tucked the file under her arm. She strode out of the large room, taking the icy tension out of the air. The door closed behind her like the click of a coffin lid.

Miller slung the weapons case over her shoulder and headed outside. It was time to say goodbye to Flat Rock, this time maybe for good. She looked up into the intense yellow-blue of the sky near the rising sun, which squatted just an hour or so above the horizon. The desert sand sparkled in the heat. There wasn’t a cloud or carrion bird in the sky. No planes flew over the little town. The air was still, with not even a breeze to stir the dry leaves on the unkempt lawns of the deserted neighborhood. She heard no cars, no television sets, and no radios playing country music.

Flat Rock was a graveyard. The faint smell of decaying flesh tickled Miller’s nostrils. It was an old scent, not a threat. The town was long dead, and well past rising again.

Miller closed the door to her home without bothering to lock it. She headed out to the waiting Army Hummer, but stopped in her tracks. “Do I want to know what you are doing with that shovel? It’s a little too big to pick your nose with.”

Two men stood by a small mound of earth. The scientist Captain Karl Sheppard had dark hair and movie star good looks. Next to him was a tall, muscular biker who sported loud ink, incongruously short hair, and a fresh crop of stubble on his chin. Neither man smiled.

The big biker spoke up. “Nice Penny. Here we are doing you a solid, and that’s the sweetest thing you can think of to say?”

Miller set the weapons down on the ground. “What favor could you be doing me with a shovel, Scratch?” Then a sad thought hit her. Her voice cracked when she spoke. “Goddamn it, are you burying poor little Sgt. Pepper?”

Scratch stood there proudly, fresh dry dirt clinging to his cheek and hands. His intricate tattoos practically glowed with the early morning light. He nodded. “It just seemed like the right thing to do.”

Miller turned away. She picked up the weapons case, and walked it the rest of the way to the open Hummer. She slid the case into the cargo area in the back, and slammed the lid with a thump. The two men exchanged worried looks.

Sheppard, said, “Penny, we thought you’d be pleased.”

“My cat Pepper wasn’t the only poor soul who didn’t make it out of Flat Rock alive,” Miller said. She studied the Hummer’s tires to keep her feelings hidden. “If we stop every twenty feet to bury somebody that never got covered right and say a few words over them, we ain’t going to get very far today.”

Handing the shorter man the shovel, Scratch walked the ten steps over to where Miller was standing. He lowered his voice. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He turned her around. He rested his palms on her shoulders. He did not allow her to look away. His touch felt good but Miller flinched and backed up into the vehicle.

“Talk to me, Penny.”

Miller gently removed Scratch’s hands. She looked up at him, her face devoid of emotion. It wasn’t easy to pull off. “I’m fine, Scratch. Just finish up what you were doing so we can all get the hell out of here.”

Scratch let a small, sad frown crawl across his craggy face. Miller knew she had hurt him with that impersonal response, but he was too proud to admit it. He let her go. Miller stepped to one side and strolled around to the back of the Hummer. The morning sun glinted off the bumper of an abandoned car three doors down. Scratch shaded his eyes, rubbed his newly grown facial stubble and appeared to ponder his options. He wasn’t a quitter. He opened his mouth to say something else.

Before he could continue, a woman spoke. “Leave her be.”

Scratch stopped cold. He looked at Major Francine Hanratty, the mercenary soldier who was standing on the sidewalk nearby. After a few seconds Scratch grumbled a bit but relaxed. “Since when did you become a mother hen, Rat? I thought that was Karl’s deal.”

Sheppard stepped between Scratch and Rat. He took them both by the arm and pulled them away from the brooding Miller. Rat winced when he tugged her by the wrist. Her bumps and bruises from the battle at Crystal Palace had healed up since they’d arrived in Flat Rock a few days before, though she still had some small aches and pains. The injection of Enhanced Bioweapons Serum, as Sheppard would call it, which was now wearing off, had sped up her metabolism. It had helped her recover quickly. She was almost back to normal.

“Now’s not the right time,” said Sheppard. “Let her have some space.”

Rat said, “You’re probably right. Whatever’s bothering Penny will get said when she’s damn good and ready.”

“You two,” Scratch whispered, “ought to lower your voices.”

Too late.

“You guys want to know what’s stuck in my craw?” Miller came towards them, walking fast and with a grim purpose. Her friends winced. She pointed at silent homes nearby. One next door and two right across the street. “Look around you, damn it. This was my home, and these were my neighbors, my friends. I swore to protect each and every person in Flat Rock when they made me the Sheriff, but when the shit really came down, turns out I couldn’t even protect my own damn cat.”

The others studied her, clearly worried.

Miller barely managed to hold back her tears. Since coming home to find the town wrecked and her pet cat dead, she’d been close to crying more times than she was willing to admit. In fact, the pressure in her chest had been steadily building. She hadn’t let go much since that first terrible night when the zombie plague hit her jail, not even when her ex-husband Terrill Lee had died, and Miller felt maybe she had the right now. She glared at her friends, frustrated that they didn’t understand, but her anger didn’t last long. It couldn’t have been a huge surprise to anyone that she’d maintained her control.

“Hell, if you hadn’t saved my life back in that jailhouse,” Scratch said, quietly, “I’d be dead too.”

Sheppard squinted in the morning glare. “Wait a minute. I thought you were the one who shot her than night, Scratch.”

“That’s water under the bridge, Karl. I thought we agreed not to ever bring that up.” Scratch’s face softened as he turned back to Miller. “You did what you had to do that night, and you’ve done it every damn day since, Penny.”

Sheppard nodded. “He’s right, you know. You are one amazing woman.”

The two men turned as one to Rat, waiting for her to join in the love fest.

“Don’t look at me,” Rat said. “I’m just along for the ride until I can get back to my bank account. I’m just going to shut up right now.” Miller was not surprised at Rat’s gruff response. Apart from the fact that Rat was never the touchy-feely type, Rat and Miller had a history, not all of it good, though their friendship seemed to have survived.

“Shutting up is probably a good idea,” Miller said. “You know what? I’m through hurting over all this crap. What’s done is done.” Miller opened the driver’s side door of the Hummer. “This vehicle is packed up, guys. Is the Gravedigger Patrol ready to hit the road, or do you still have some weeping and praying to do?”

“We’re ready, boss,” said Rat. She shot Scratch and Sheppard a fierce look, and they got the message. They fell in behind her. True to her word, Miller did not look back at her abandoned home, nor at the grave of her pet cat. Her eyes were dry, shoulders straight enough to have had a wooden hanger inserted in her shirt.

“Who’s driving?” Miller asked.

Sheppard stepped forward. “Scratch and I are driving.”

Miller raised an eyebrow. “What are you planning to do, sit on each other’s lap?”

“We talked about this while you were packing,” said Scratch. “It makes more sense if we take two vehicles.”

Miller shifted her gaze back and forth between the two of them like a woman watching a tennis match. “Who’s this
we
you’re talking about? I make those kinds of decisions. And do I need to remind you that we agreed splitting up in downtown Zombieville is not a good idea? Ever?”

Scratch rubbed his perpetual stubble. The rim of his sunglasses glinted in the bright light. Miller guessed he was getting irritated.
Good.

“Penny,” Sheppard said, “bringing an extra vehicle with us is a good strategy. If one breaks down, we have a spare. It lets us bring extra water and spare parts and weapons. Do you really want to get caught out in the middle of the desert with only one, broken down Hummer?”

Miller grimaced. After a moment, she nodded. “You have a point. Last I checked, the Auto Club stopped honoring our memberships maybe six months ago.”

Scratch grinned, “There it is.”

Miller turned to Rat. “Did you approve of this decision?”

“First I’m hearing of it,” Rat said. “But I agree that it makes sense.”

Miller could feel more frustration welling up inside. She was used to giving orders, not answering to a committee, but she also knew a good idea when heard one. “Fine, but we wear each other like underwear the whole damn way, got it?”

“Got it,” all three said in unison.

“I mean that,” Miller said. “Belly buttons to butt cheeks. Don’t get lost.” She paused and looked up and down the street. “Where’s the other vehicle?”